Saturday, 25 October 2031. 0600/6:00am CST. The remnants of Rural Central Texas.
Subdued brassy notes of reveille played over Marcus' augs, the alarm instantly bringing him to full awareness from the depths his lonely and mindless slumber.
"Silence alarm." He subvocalized, the augs long since trained to read the micro-muscle movements of his face and throat to know what he was "saying." A small window expanded to the bottom right of his vision as the bugle abruptly cut off. A short list of unattended messages, email, voicemail, or vidmail, sat in the inbox waiting patiently for Marcus to give them his time of day.
"Delay messages for one hour, unless it's urgent or from ranch crew. Same for incoming calls." Marcus reached his left arm out across the cold and empty expanse of the king size bed he only took half of while he looked up at the ceiling fan as it slowly spun ever onwards, the augs shrinking the window of messages and leaving his vision clear aside from the basic HUD he had configured with the time, Compass, and basic "radar Mini-Map" that would integrate any known map source of his local surroundings with recent data to show himself in context to everything and everyone around him. It wasn't perfect, but as his left arms' sensations reminded him, nothing in this world was.
Marcus sighed and forced himself out of bed. After pulling his .45 semi auto pistol from under his pillow and placing it on the bed-stand he quickly remade the bed with machine-like precision before returning his attention to the firearm. He deftly released the magazine and pulled the slide back, catching the chambered round as it kicked out. Placing these on the bed-stand top, he pulled out the drawer and entered a hard key combo into the small gun safe set inside. Lifting the cover, he picked up the pistol, visually cleared the chamber through the still locked open slide, and then placed the weapon into the pre-cut foam section for it. Pulling out an empty magazine he began to fill it with the spare rounds set aside in their own cutouts in the foam, the exact number needed to fill a magazine, plus one empty spot. Once filled, the magazine went into a slot labeled "loaded" and he took the magazine from the bed-stand and began to unload it into the now empty slots in the foam. Once done, the magazine was placed in the "Empty" slot, and the round that was in the chamber to start with made its home in the last lonely cutout that was left.
Ritual complete, he closed the safe and drawer and then proceeded to the next ritual, something the Rook's Guardians had called "Shit Shower and Shave."
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Gravel crunched pleasingly underfoot as Marcus made his way towards the stables. Sorting messages as he went was soothing and helped distract him from thinking about having to deal with guests on property for a little bit longer. That had always been Maria's thing, he mostly left it up to the ranch hands now if he could, but every group seemed to expect at least one showing of the owner to bid them welcome or some such. Maria always knew how to handle people. He was better with the animals and the machines. Or people who worked with him, not people who expected him to work for them.
Maybe he had too much ego?
Or maybe they could all go to hell. He was okay with that. But then that would be letting Maria down, and the horses needed a purpose or Marcus would lose the Historical Ag Use license for the ranch.
Shit.
Fine. He'd deal with people. Again.
CholoCrusader: Yo, Boss, these city yahoos wanna get horses that fart pretty.
Marcus stared at the team message on the communications app he had bought for the Ranch Staff to use.
Marcus: You want to explain that a bit more? Because that makes no sense whatsoever.
The first time Marcus had to send messages via his Aug, or the augments installed in his eyes, brain, ears, throat, etc, it was ... strange. Disturbing. He felt it was almost a violation. Now he barely gave it a thought as his words flowed from mental process to the app almost as soon as he was thinking it. A mix of sub vocalization, eye-tracking, and predictive text based on prior use led to the Aug/App interface working smoothly to send his utter confusion about horse flatulence across.
Mr. Tibbs: I got this one, Boss. Just be visible and wave when I wave at you. I'll explain that Mrs. Maria's horses are 100% Gene Mod free and they are getting an authentic experience, not the lilac scented coddle sessions from Colorado Excursions.
Ah. That made more sense. Some places gene mod the animals to make them more pleasing to be around. Sounds like one of them made it so that their horses farted lilacs. Marcus shook his head. So stupid. It's a horse. Let it be a horse.
Marcus: Thank you, Tibbs. Anyone there I need to glad-hand/Dog and Pony?
CholoCrusader: Fuck is glad-hand? I thought that was illegal, and usually the ladies do that.
Mr. Tibbs: Cholo, tu pendejo, shut the fuck up. Jefe, there are a couple of Damas here that are tired of el Gallo strutting around and trying to look good at our expense. Be nice in many ways to slap him down and let the Damas know who the real cabarello is. But not a need. Just vindictive desire.
Marcus: Ten-Four. Let me know if I need to step in. Pablo, cover your ass, don't show it. I hear you speak like that out loud where a client can hear and you are mucking the stables for a month, and that's if I don't fire you. You are already on thin ice. Do. Not. Push. Me. ¿Me escuchas?
CholoCrusader: Si, senor. Sorry, senor. Will do better.
Marcus: Good. Tibbs, I'm going to do a pass around the main property and check the HVIs. If you need me, call me, Mr. Tibbs.
Mr. Tibbs: No... they CALL ME MR. Tibbs!
SaintMarta: Wow. Cause that joke never ever gets old. I'm laughing sooooooo hard right now...
Marcus snorted as he changed his path to start making a circuit around the cluster of buildings, Main House, Bunk House, Stable, Vehicle Shed, Barn, Guest housing, dining hall, a few outbuildings and storage units, water storage etc. At each building he checked that the doors, locks, wiring connections, security devices, etc were all in working order or had been tagged for maintenance follow-up.
He also at various places found what looked like unused electric boxes, old lockers, etc, and opened them to reveal new and well maintained firearm safes. Swift and sure movements opened each safe, a series of photos taking on the augs to compare to the prior visit, a check of any ammo nearing expiration, shifting ammo out from loaded magazines to previously unloaded ones, or in the case of two pump action shotguns the replacement of the springs from the ammo magazine built in under the barrel. Marcus knew he was probably overkill on his rituals, but it was soothing and no one could say he did not take excellent care of the tools he owned.
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After each one was checked and maintained, ammo counted, notes taken and filed, and a full cleaning scheduled on his calendar, Marcus locked each safe and armed the alarm system on it before replacing the camouflaged exterior.
Marcus was crossing back towards the pen where clients would be introduced to the animals and eventually saddle up when he suddenly stopped.
...
Something... something was wrong.
Marcus did a visual check. Nothing he could see stood out. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly released it before extending his other senses out.
Gravel dust and the dirt kicked up by hooves filled his nostrils. Rubber from the clients rental vehicles tires. Some sort of ... sharp... ozone... smell? Something... something there, but he can't place it. He put a pin in it.
No wind. The mornings heat just starting to warm his skin.
The sound of voices growing somewhat louder. Horses neighing. Disturbed and upset horses. And...
Nothing.
No birds. No instincts. It was like nature was holding it's breath, hoping against hope that something would not notice it and just pass on by.
Oh.... fuck.
His eyes slammed open again as a message came in.
SaintMarta: Bossman, the horses are losing their goddamn minds.
Mr. Tibbs: Jefe, need you here. Horses going nuts. Not willing to working with us. Something is wrong.
CholoCrusader: wtf bro dis hrse gna brk my leg!
Marcus' mind started to move into overdrive. Estimates of time, distance, usefulness, available resources, all drove out rising panic and fear. Decision made, he started moving to the main house.
Marcus: Tibbs, go to the bunker. Open the door. Secure the HVIs and check their status. Prep to secure. Marta, tie the horses to the fence, get the clients safely away. Ride is canceled. Don't tell them that yet. Pablo, stay with the Clients. Keep them calm. Tell them the horses need to be checked. ask them for patience. We don't have long before they are gonna panic anyway. KEEP THEM TOGETHER!
Reaching the main house Marcus bounded up the steps and pushed inside. In less then two minutes he was unlocking a large gun safe and pulling out gear.
SaintMarta: Uh.... ok. What's going on, boss? Starting to scare me a bit?
Mr. Tibbs: The bunker? O.M.W.
Mr. Tibbs: Um. With Marta. Can you explain?
Belt with K-Bar. Ammo mags for PTR-91 Carbine he had loaded, chambered, and slung the harness over his neck to let it hang loose. Desert Eagle to the side with spare mags. Grenades were in the bunker. While gearing up he made a call on his Augs and waited for the other end to pick up.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ri- "Fucking, Marcus, you know what time it is on a Saturday? The one day I get to sleep in?"
"I've got an incursion about to happen. Right on goddamn top of me. At the ranch. I have three employees and 17 clients plus myself. Can you roll?"
The line got quiet for several seconds before the voice came back on. "Marcus, I ain't seeing anything..."
"Jim, I am telling you. I got a limited amount of time. It's coming. I don't know why the alarms have not gone off, maybe cause we are so far out, but it's coming. I can feel it." Marcus took a deep stabilizing breath as he closed the gun safe and stepped outside into the eerie calm. "It's like Corpus Christi, Jim."
"... That was never proven..."
"You were there. You know what happened. We felt it. And I am telling you now. I feel it."
"I cannot roll the Rooks on a feeling, Marcus. You know how much it costs to do anything as a PMC. And I know you can hardly afford us, so if you are wrong and we can't get paid from bounties..."
"Jim, I'm cutting the horses loose. Gonna give them a chance to get out ahead of this."
The pause on the line lasted for almost a minute as Marcus headed to the horse pens.
Mr. Tibbs: Bunker ready. HVIs in order and ready.
Marcus: Good. Everyone, get the clients in the bunker. Now.
A chorus of dings went ignored as Marcus saw his young team start corralling the clients towards a hidden cut in the ground near a short rocky cliff face.
"Marcus, I'll see what I can do. You... you take care."
"Roger, wilco. Sending you the GPS tags for the bunker and the links for the comms array. Hardlines and wireless both. Gotta go. Marcus out."
The call cut Jim's voice out before he could speak as Marcus hung up the line. He ignored the murmurs and shocked voices from the clients as they watched his now heavily armed self approach the horses before Marta and Pablo was able to get them all into the shallow cut that led to the bunker.
Deftly unlatching the gate, Marcus put a practiced amount of force into a push to open the gate and leave it hanging open wide. A few more steps and he was next to first of the horses, all of whom were on the edge of panic.
"Sssssh. Oooooosshaaaaah. Issokaaaay." Smooth and low, his voice matched his hands as he gently reached out to caress a nose before trailing his hand up and over the neck, letting the beast know that it was him who was about to work on the saddle and tack. A few swift motions on the quick releases and the entire saddle assemble slid off the horse and fell to the ground. Hands back up with more soothing baby talk and Marcus gently released the bridle, the reigns still lashed to the pen. One last pat before a gentle nudge to show the horse that it was free to leave, and then Marcus moved on to the next horse. And the next. And the next.
As the final horse was loosed the herd, who for some reason had remained until they were all free, gave Marcus one last look of recognition before wild fear took over and they bolted as one out of the pen and vanished over a hill.
Maria, I did what I could. I hope they can out run the Antithesis. I'm... glad you aren't here to see this. Would break your heart. Marcus looked up to the slightly cloudy sky as if his gaze could pierce the veils of heaven. I miss you, babe. I dunno if I can do this much longer with out you. But, well, who knows. Maybe I'm about to join you up there. He gave a wry laugh. Not aiming to, mind, but ... Maybe it won't be so bad...
Without another glance Marcus squared his shoulders and made a fast walking pace to the bunker, Maria's final words to him playing in the back of his mind.
It hurts to lose me because you love me. That is human and normal. It's okay to hurt. But don't live in it forever. I love you, and I want you find another love when I am gone. Romantic. Platonic. Whatever. Find someone or something to love. It's the only way for you to remember to live. I am dying. I want you to still live, my love.
It was hardly a surprise to Marcus when there was the sound of ripping canvas above him as reality itself was rent asunder. Within seconds a message was pushed to his Augs by the regional Civil Services.
STARS Alert System Incursion Detected! Please take the following URGENT steps!
Notify via this form your local STARS Civil Services Provider and your loved ones where you are taking shelter!
TAKE IMMEDIATE SHELTER!
DO NOT STOP TO GATHER SUPPLIES!
DO NOT BRING PETS!
YOU ARE MORE VALUABLE!
Hey, who knows, maybe it'll actually save somebody.
Marcus was closing the notice as he traversed the ramp down to the bunker and was taking the sharp left turn that marked the start of the Kill-Box when raised voices caught his attention before someone screamed. His eyes shot up, scanning for Antithesis that would have prompted such a reaction (but it's too early, I should have another few minutes before they reach here) when a small flying object caught his eye just moments before it would smack him in the head.
Is that... a grenade?